Page 44 of Hopeless Romantic
Their eyes remained locked, and neither spoke as a meaningful silence, and something Beckett wasn’t ready to admit, passed between them. They remained frozen in place, too afraid to speak and too afraid look away. Remembering how to breathe became difficult.
A loud buzzing came from her cell. She could answer it or stay in the moment. Either way, she’d be letting someone down. Indecision churned in her stomach.
“You know, it’s okay to put yourself first sometimes,” he said, as if reading her mind.
“Even when it feels selfish?”
“Think of it as self-preservation.” He set his fork down. “You fight so hard for everyone else—don’t forget to fight for yourself.”
The phone wouldn’t let up, Annie’s wedding was a few weeks off, and it was nearing dinnertime. “With so much on my plate, it’s easy to forget about me.”
“Then I’ll remind you.” His voice was whisper-soft, his expression even softer, as he took a forkful of cake and held it out to her. “Open up for me.”
They both knew he was talking about more than cake. Maybe it was the grappa, or maybe it was the small, hopeful smile he gave her, but she did.
She was too nervous to eat from his fork, but she did send the call to voice mail. Then, using her own fork, she tapped his as if in celebration. “To carrot cake.”
“Is that what you’d do if you were putting yourself first? Sit here with me and share cake?”
Her first instinct was to look him right in the eyes and lie her little butt off. But he’d been so open with her, and if this was about learning to put herself first, then she didn’t want to start off fibbing. So instead of shying away, she pushed through the uncertainty and discomfort of his open and honest interest, and even managed to return some of her own.
“Surprisingly, yes,” she said honestly.
He seemed pleased by her admission, and that made her ridiculously happy.
“To you,” he toasted and,holy moly,the look he sent her—heavy-lidded and heavy on the innuendo—while licking his fork clean made it clear that he’d rather be licking the icing right off her lips.
She swallowed her piece whole, then nearly choked on the growing sexual awareness between them. There were a dozen reasons she could list as to why crushing on Levi was stupid, but she decided to save them for later. Right then, she wanted to pretend she was the kind of woman who regularly met sexy, single men during work hours to share cake and intimate conversation.
It had been a long while since she’d done that. Even longer since she’d felt this way.
“How about you?” she asked.
“This,” he said, reaching across to give her hand a squeeze. She didn’t squeeze back, but she didn’t object to the contact. “Only instead of here, I’d have arranged for the tasting to happen a mile out, at dusk, on the deck of my boat. You, me, the sunset, and cake for two.”
“Does cell service exist a mile out?”
“Beck, if that’s what it takes to get you on my boat, just say the word, and I’ll dismantle whatever satellites need dismantling.”
Oh boy!Not only did she believe him, but she was just one of his double-barreled grins away from asking when it was anchors up. She couldn’t remember any Steves or Bruces being so interested in getting to know her—like, really know her. In fact, Levi had asked more personal questions than all her past dates combined.
This was the most intimate first date she’d ever been on. And it wasn’t even a date! Beckett could only imagine what a real date with Levi would look like. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to find out.
“Too bad I swore never to set foot in your cabin,” she reminded him.
“I believe it was never, ever, ever. Lucky for us, my deck is reachable without having to pass through the master cabin. Although, I’m up to give you a tour belowdecks whenever you’re ready.”
Beckett was about to tell him that if he kept ticking off boxes like he was, she might not be able to resist a full tour of his boat, when the phone rang—again. This time, it was the shop phone.
“That was your daddy,” Cecilia hollered, and every one of her warm flutters turned cold. “Said he tried calling you, but it went to voice mail.”
Her heart thumped against her chest—no longer in a good way—as she looked at her cell. Seven missed calls from her dad. Three texts from Thomas.
“He wanted to know when you were coming home,” Cecilia continued. “Said something about Thomas letting his pecker out and chasing it in the yard. Your dad tried to cage it when it got aggressive with the neighbor. From Karen’s shouting in the background, I’d say he failed.”
“He’s referring to an emotional support rooster,” Levi clarified.
“Whatever you kids are calling it, you better get home before Karen goes after him with her pistol. Chased off the last pecker to wrong her with a single shot. It’s why Mr. Kipper walks with that funny limp.”
